Part 7

Although relieved that he was still a Malfoy, Draco put off returning home as long as he could, dawdling over dinner. It wasn't easy. Harry seemed to like pizza, but it was too greasy and salty for his taste. After the third slice, he had to put the crust down and lean back in his seat.

"Ready?" Severus asked.

"Sure," Draco said softly. "What time is it?"

"Half past twelve," Harry said. "We've been here awhile."

"Mm," Draco replied. "Good. Father should be a little less angry with me, then."

He took his half-finished can of grape soda and went to the door, watching the snow come down. The streets turned white and gold under the streetlamps. He could see familiar patterns--signs advertising shops, gutters and mailboxes--but the shapes were alien to him. The corners too precise, the bricks too measured, and the light were glaringly harsh. The muggle town felt as if Diagon Alley had been twisted just a few degrees, which made it more foreign than if it had been dwarf caves or fairy hollows.

After a moment, he looked over his shoulder at Harry, who was watching intently, looking for any sign that Draco might come apart.

"Come on," he said to him, finishing his soda and throwing the can away. "I'm tired."

He watched Harry, raising an eyebrow as he stacked the paper plates and trash, wiped the table with a clean napkin and then threw everything away. Harry also spared a moment to set the napkin holder in the center of the table again before coming behind Draco and putting the hood of the jacket over his blond hair.

Like a house elf, Draco thought to himself, leading the way out the door.

Harry's behavior bothered him. He wiped down tables like a servant. At home, he picked up clothes where Draco dropped them, straightened the bed in the morning and organized their closet when it was messy. And the clothes he'd made himself were too big and threadbare, as if someone else had worn them out and thrown them away.

Someone had to know why Harry acted like an elf.

Dumbledore? No doubt he knew, but Draco also knew he'd never tell. The headmaster kept secrets like a book with a broken lock.

The Weasleys? Probably, but he wouldn't lower himself to speak to them unless there was no other option. They were damned hard to intimidate or blackmail, and he wasn't about to befriend bloodtraitors.

Granger? Again, she probably did, but she would run straight to Harry and tell him that Draco had asked--

The world suddenly tilted as he slipped on a patch of black ice. Bracing himself to hit the concrete, he instead fell backwards against Harry, who held him for a second, then put him back on his feet.

"Mind the ice," Harry whispered with a smile.

Returning the smile, if a little shakily, Draco took a breath to steady himself. "Why? You're here."

Draco lingered so he could enjoy Harry holding him a little longer, but he felt Harry's hands shivering. He turned and touched Harry's chest, grimacing when he felt how cold he was.

"No warmth charm," he whispered, looking up in shock. "Why didn't you--?"

"Didn't think about it," Harry said. His voice shuddered as the wind cut over them. "You know you have to remind me to get charms on my clothes."

"I have to remind you even when it's snowing?" Draco demanded.

There was an alley beside the pizza parlor. Severus stood just inside, out of sight of the rest of the street.

"Whine at him later," Severus grumbled, grabbing Draco's hood and yanking once. "I want you safe at home right now."

Giving Harry a look that promised the scolding was not over, Draco followed Severus into the cramped space between buildings. Draco was glad it was too dark to see as something cracked and squished under his shoes.

"Ready?" Harry asked, holding him tight.

"Yes."

As usual, Draco closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were at the front gate of the fence ringing the Malfoy estate. Severus appeared a second after and ushered them in, following and locking the gate.

Lucius was waiting for them. Leaning against the frame of what would be the manor's main door, he stared at the ground lost in thought, only noticing them when he heard the gate clang shut. He stood straight, holding his cane tightly, but he didn't move towards them.

"Draco..." Severus started. He didn't finish his thought.

He didn't have to. Draco understood. Whatever disagreement Severus had with Lucius, either they had solved it or it was not something he wanted dragged into Draco's conversation with his father. Draco didn't want any other disagreements dragged into this conversation, either. He nodded to Severus and whispered to Harry to give him some time with his father. It took a moment to convince Harry that he'd be all right, but after promising to come to Harry if there was any problem, both of them retreated to the cellar and Draco stood alone.

Reassuring himself that Lucius would not have had made Severus bring him home if he was just going to boot him out of the family, Draco swallowed his nervousness and went before him, waiting for his father to make the first move. The wind blew past them, bringing with it snow flurries and frozen, brittle leaves.

"I should not have done that to you," Lucius said, his voice low and soft. "I'm sorry."

Relief filled Draco's heart, followed quickly by guilt. Now that he wasn't going to be turned out, he could afford to apologize. Draco shook his head once, not looking at him.

"I disobeyed you."

With a sigh, Lucius glanced up at the sky. "I should have died by now. The longer I live, the more likely it is that you'll disobey."

Not a comforting thought, if tonight was any indication as to how his father reacted to disobedience. Especially since he wasn't ready to not have his parents around. A thought came to Draco.

"Father, did Abraxas really...?"

He didn't have to finish his question. Lucius stiffened and didn't look at him. The disturbing sense of aloofness and disdain came over him again.

"Severus has been talking, it seems," he said softly. He cast a glare at the cellar door.

"Don't..." Draco sighed in frustration. "Don't blame him. He was defending you."

"Some things are not to be repeated. Ever."

There was a tone in his father's voice that he didn't recognize. Confident, deceitful, angry or calm--that was what he was used to. It took a long moment before he realized that he'd never heard his father sound so guarded. As if there were secrets Lucius was afraid of his own family finding out.

"I'm relieved he told me nonetheless," Draco said, forcing a lighter tone. "It made me realize how lenient you are with me."

"'Lenient'?" Lucius echoed, wide-eyed. "Dear God, you think I would--my own son?"

"I've heard of it happening in other families," Draco said. "Crabbe got it once for bringing home muggle smokes. After everything I've revealed to the Ministry and marrying Harry, I'd be lucky if grandfather left any skin on my back."

"'Skin'," Lucius repeated, at first frowning and then gasping in understanding. "Oh--the whip--that's what Severus--? Of course. Of course."

A rare slip of his father's tongue that Draco would have to examine later, although he thought he knew what it meant. He knew his father's hands were drenched in blood, but he didn't know how to feel about the possibility that Lucius had murdered Abraxas.

"I wouldn't," Lucius promised. "I even had the damn thing burned afterward. I know I'm not always the most--"

He fumbled for the right word and, when he found it, forced it out like he had a mouthful of thorns.

"--considerate person," he admitted. "But I won't hurt anyone in this family."

Small comfort if he found himself thrust out of what Lucius considered family, but Draco imagined that such a thing took a lot more than disobeying a few orders. If Severus had been truthful, then Draco would have to try to murder his own kin.

He suddenly smiled.

"That's why you let me marry him, isn't it?" he breathed, but he was so confident that it wasn't a question.

Lucius had been whipped for loving Severus. A half-blood. Lucius couldn't deny the same love to his own son.

"Annoying as he is," Lucius conceded with a small nod. "But I must say, even as I wish you'd found someone with some semblance of breeding, the union is advantageous for us. The Boy Who Lived, paragon of virtue--"

Draco almost snorted.

"--hero and champion of all that is right and good in the world--he gives us greater standing with the rest of society. I don't think we'd have come even this far with the Ministry without him vouching for you, and by proxy, the rest of us."

"You mean vouching for the dark community?" Draco asked. "But Harry's barely said anything about them. Fighting against the dark lord--"

"I meant us as a family," Lucius said. "If he's the hero, we're very much the villains, but his marriage to you cleared away a host of practical sins. I'm sure you've noticed the difference."

"Too many differences to tell if I like it or not," Draco said.

The bare bones of Malfoy manor's first floor stood around them, and he sighed and sat down on what would become the frame of the drawing room window. His father could stand without rest for hours from years of practice in the Ministry's marbled halls, but Draco preferred to recline.

"The shopkeeps on Diagon alley still have a taste for the galleons I spend," Draco said. "But now they know I'm dark instead of just suspecting it. The disgust is there, but they won't hurt me because of this truce. And whenever I'm with Harry, they look at me like I'm his dog on a leash."

"But you practically told him that already," Lucius said. "I think your words were 'yes, I am a viper, but I'm your viper'?" He laughed lightly. "Severus is right. Malfoys have a flare for the dramatic."

Draco's breath hitched and he felt his face heat up.

"How did you--?"

Lucius shook his head with a faint smile.

"Don't be surprised. Your mother can pry information out of the most secretive wizards. Potter didn't stand a chance. I'm sure it was only her discretion that kept her from discovering your bedroom details."

"Oh God..." Draco muttered, silently swearing to strangle his husband.

"You're doing a good job of housebreaking him," Lucius said. "But while it's nice that we don't have to worry that he'll embarrass us, it will take much longer to train him to be subtle and discrete."

Draco doubted that would ever happen at all.

There was little else to say. As gratified as Draco felt to get an apology, he felt horribly awkward and knew that his father must have felt the same. It was a relief to climb downstairs into the cellar and creep into Harry's arms. In the cold, damp burrow, Harry held him as if nothing would tear him from his grasp.

As he closed his eyes, Draco thought how funny it was that Harry was bony and angular with hard edges at his shoulders and hips and elbows, but he was more comfortable than a mattress. His calloused hands were warmer than a blanket.

"When we get our bedrooms," he whispered, "I'll still be sleeping on top of you. Just fair warning."

Henry kissed the top of his head and tightened his grip, readjusting him more for his comfort. Draco closed his eyes and let himself drowse.

There were murmurs and whispers beside them. Narcissa soothed the emotional wounds Lucius had torn on Severus, and in turn she reassured Lucius of his fears made worse by watching half his family disappear into the muggle world. Even if only for half a night, Draco and Severus had vanished into a world where he couldn't follow, and the anxiety was visible under the confident veneer. Draco peered between his eyelashes, watching her kneel between them, serving as a bridge over their differences.

Draco wondered what that was like, having a third wheel that stabilized them and brought them closer than they could be if they were only two. He didn't think he could do the same. He couldn't share Harry with anyone. He didn't think Harry was the sharing type, either.

Lucius had grown up being wealthy enough to have whatever he desired, and arrogant enough to believe that he could hold onto whatever he took. Severus and Narcissa sometimes pulled so hard that Lucius seemed that he would tear in half, and he noticeably eased his authority whenever they didn't threaten to rip each other apart. Draco imagined that after years of living together, his mother and master learned to reserve their fights for more subtle sniping under their breath and behind Lucius' back. He still didn't know how his father put up with it, but perhaps Lucius had learned to ignore their rivalry when it was obvious that they still loved each other.

In either case, their chatting was noisy, even if it was all whispered. Draco hoped he'd have his own bedroom soon. With his parents coming back to friendly terms, it was hard to fall asleep.

He was still exhausted when noon rolled around. He grumbled as sunlight streamed onto his eyes from the cellar door, suddenly flung wide as Lucius came downstairs. Something heavy thumped on Draco's back, but he had plenty of practice ignoring morning people, and he instead buried his face in Harry's shirt.

"Has Draco ever gotten up on his own?" Harry mumbled, picking up what Draco could tell was a newspaper rustling over his head.

"On occasion," Narcissa said from the corner, looking up from her book for a moment. "If he's had his ten hours. Or when there's something he's rather excited to attend."

"So not very often?" Harry smiled.

"I'm afraid he gets that from Severus," Narcissa said.

Draco frowned and peered at her from the crook of Harry's arm. "Sev' said I get that from you."

"You get it from both of them," Lucius said, cutting off Narcissa's reply. "There's a reason they can traipse through the forest after midnight looking for ridiculous flowers. Neither of them wakes up before ten."

She snorted and muttered something about irritable morning people before going back to her book.

Lucius sat down at his table and leaned back in his chair, staring at the newspaper he'd flung open. He skimmed it, then sighed and glanced sideways at Draco.

"I admit you pulled it off," he said slowly, "but if you ever do anything that stupid again, I'll take this whole family to France just so I don't have a complete breakdown."

Still yawning, Draco reluctantly turned in Harry's lap so he could see the Daily Prophet. The torchlight on the wall and the candles on the table made it hard to see, but he was too comfortable to sit up for a better look.

Dark Magic Revealed

by Rita Skeeter

Merlin, Morgan, murder and nightmares--the subjects that enthralled and disturbed the select audience of last night's lecture on dark magic and its practitioners. For security reasons, the location of the clearing in Safernoc forest was kept undisclosed and wards were set to allow no apparation in, and the invitation-only list included Aurors, Ministry officials, Hogwarts professors and journalists. Although the Aurors helped with security, the constant presence of the Knights of Walpurgis, cloaked and standing guard around the clearing, emphasized that this program was very much run by wizards long distrustful of the Ministry.

Lucius Malfoy began the evening, impressing upon us just how unprecedented this event is. Indeed, his demeanor was quite different from his usual aloof air of confidence. Dare I say, this reporter believes he may have let his true nervousness slip in front of a crowd of the enemy? Not that anyone could blame him. If our positions had been reversed and I stood in front of a crowd of dark wizards, I would probably be nervous as well.

However, it was Draco Malfoy who gave the lecture in earnest, reprising his role in Hogwarts as he expanded upon my previous interview with him, beginning with the war between Morgan and Merlin...

Draco read down the column, waiting a few seconds as Harry turned the pages and quietly pleased to discover that he read faster than his husband. The article held no surprises until they reached the bottom, and Draco touched the corner of the newspaper to hold the edge still.

Draco Malfoy has his father's knack for appearing calm and confident, but an attack during the impromptu question and answer session left him noticeably shaken. Former Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge stood and demanded to know whether or not the Malfoy family are crossbreeds. For our muggle born readers, the question is far more loaded than simply asking if they were closet halfbloods. A crossbreed is a creature born of a union of two different species. Crossbreeds on record include the Deneb family who had crossed with an ogre and, famously, Melusine of folklore who was crossed with a serpent.

Crossbreeds are not like centaurs, who spend all their time in their hybrid form, but are more like animagi in that they change into the form of the creature whose blood they have mingled with. Some purebloods families are rumored to have resorted to crossbreeding generations ago to safeguard themselves against inbreeding, but it was little more than a rumor until last night.

Fudge's question brought not a denial but rather a fearful appeal to the wizarding world's conscience. Young Malfoy, looking suddenly quite vulnerable alone on stage, insisted that he would not answer out of fear of what the Ministry might do to him and his family, reminding the audience that entire families languish in Azkaban because of laws that have not been altered to keep pace with society's rapidly changing opinion. Dark magic is still punishable by heavy fines for those who dabble and life in Azkaban otherwise. The dark community places a great deal of faith in the good will of those who would have imprisoned them not long ago, as much of them stand in confession of criminal acts as defined by current law.

This point was raised loudly by the audience of last night's lecture, thought sadly not before Malfoy had excused himself from the stage, trembling as he rushed into Harry Potter's arms, to be whisked away by his husband.

Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour informed Fudge that he will not be attending any further events, and after apologizing to Lucius Malfoy, assured him that a formal apology would be forthcoming. While the Minister also made clear that this apology stands separate from any practices of dark magic that may lie beyond the pale of what the Ministry is willing to accept, Scrimgeour's rapid diplomacy may have saved the two communities from an unsalvageable schism.

This reporter looks forward to the next lecture and hopes that young Malfoy will again be the speaker, as his lecture was scrupulously forthright even when the unvarnished truth clearly could have damaged public opinion towards him. While future open question sessions are likely impossible after Fudge's attack, questions may be submitted in advance to this newspaper.

As always, a transcript of last evening's lecture will follow for archival purposes...

Draco breathed out in relief. Lucky. Nothing but luck about it. He hadn't ruined their chances. He hadn't ruined anything. If this were to be believed, if he'd stayed for another moment, he would have seen the crowd turn on Fudge and heard Scrimgeour's apology to his father.

"If only I didn't run at the first sign of trouble," he whispered, but wistfully, knowing it was something he couldn't change in himself.

"It worked for us," Lucius said, with the faint air of conceding a point.

Surprised, Draco looked up at him. His father didn't give him this kind of assurance often.

"If we act like we aren't afraid," Lucius said, "then we run the risk of appearing overconfident. A little vulnerability may serve us in the long run, make us more sympathetic."

Harry smothered his snort and folded the newspaper.

"It's amazing," Harry said softly. "Even when you're trying to make peace, you're still scheming."

"You say scheming like it's a bad thing," Lucius countered. When Harry didn't take the bait, he looked back at his son. "Draco, do you have any plans for the next speech?"

"Not in the slightest," Draco grumbled. "I don't even want to think about it. I just want to sleep for a year."

"Knowing you," Lucius said, "you could. Very well. You'd best stay here for a few days, wait and see if there's any violent backlash. Don't leave the grounds. If you need something, owl Severus."

"Where is he?" Draco asked. "He's out early."

Standing, Lucius straightened his robes.

"Yes, he's pilfering weeds along the edge of the Longbottom estate," he sighed. "Said he could do it a lot faster and easier if he was alone."

"They're not weeds," Narcissa insisted. "They're destrureheribergamushrooms. We need them--our sleeping draughts are almost out."

"I'd rather suffer insomnia than let him roam someone else's back yard," Lucius said, touching the bridge of his nose as a headache grew. "The Longbottom's have vicious safeguards around their house."

"He won't go near the house," she said. "He knows better than that. And they think the mushrooms are worthless, so they won't notice anything. Besides, even he can't stand being cooped up for so long. A little sneak thieving is good for him."

Lucius didn't answer. After a moment, he went back up the stairs and disappeared again, leaving Draco to happily fall back to sleep in Harry's arms.

The next handful of days passed in a dreamy languor for Draco. He listened to his parents come and go, brewing potions up on the grounds or examining potential laws at the table. Occasionally Harry rousted him out onto the grass and practiced dark spells with him, or worked on Draco's quick draw. Baths were taken quickly in the pond--quickly because the night air chilled the water--and meals were boxes from either Soulis Cauldron, a new restaurant in Diagon Alley, or Li Min's Take-Out in the muggle town.

Until finally Draco woke up to the news that the workers had pushed hard during the day and that the lower floor was complete enough to live in.

The walls were bare of even paint or paper, the carpets not yet in, the windows unfinished and the air still smelled of sawdust, but Draco saw the skeleton of his home slowly fleshing out. The kitchen was functional, the dining room and the hall were sound, and both the parlor and the library had fire places, although the chimneys were not finished.

The dungeon had been dug out from under the rubble and the cells were sound, even if the bars of the steel doors had been blown out. Lucius decided to move himself, Severus and Narcissa there so the three of them could spread out and claim some much needed privacy.

That left a small room on the other side of the manor, behind the parlor and next to the deep pit that would eventually become the pool. While his husband examined the view from the parlor windows, Draco stood in the doorway and imagined where he would put their bed and his desk.

Things were looking up, Draco thought, and for the first time in weeks, he felt as if he could breathe again. With the manor coming along, the Daily Prophet in hand, society a little mollified and the Ministry wrangled somewhat by his father, Draco now had time to devote to a personal goal.

Why did Harry behave like a house elf?

Which took Draco back to another question.

Who had raised Harry?

Specifically, where did the muggle vermin now live so he could find them and ask them himself?

Courteously, of course.

But how to find out? He'd already dismissed Harry's friends and associates out of hand. No one would give him a straight answer, knowing his nature.

So he would rely on his nature instead.

That evening, the bare bones of furniture had been delivered and moved in. Harry shrank down the heavy oak bed to a third of its size and floated it in, maneuvering it through the doors and into the corner. He looked over his shoulder at Draco, who nodded once, and set the bed down.

"A shame we couldn't find a decent four post bed on short notice," Draco murmured. "But this'll do for now."

Harry stared at the bed, a heavy mass of wood and feather stuffing that made the floor creak. It looked like something out of a ritzy hotel, something that should be dripping with cushions and fancy blankets. Grimacing, he looked back at Draco.

"This isn't fancy enough?"

Smiling, Draco walked over and sat down on the mattress, sinking slightly in the thick fabric.

"No," he answered with a soft shake of his head. "Not nearly."

Harry sighed. "I don't think I can sleep in something this fancy, let alone anything worse."

"There isn't anything bad about a nice bed," Draco said. "It's not what you're used to, but give it a chance."

While Harry opened his mouth to argue, Draco reached to his collar and undid the buttons at his throat, moving down his chest to his waist, where his robe flared slightly. It wasn't the dramatic line that Severus favored, but it parted at his hips just enough to let him walk, and when he sat, it fell open naturally. As always, the movement made Harry's voice trail off as he watched.

Draco let the robe fall off his shoulders. He toed off his shoes, then lay back across the bed. For the first time in months, he felt comfortable, as if he could spread out and breathe and relax.

"My own bed in my own home again," he whispered, then glanced at his husband. "Our bed. Our home."

Harry sat down next to him, touching his hand. His own gaze was somber, and he managed a weak smile.

"Sorry," Harry breathed.

"'Sorry'," Draco echoed. "For what?"

"I didn't mean to sound judgmental. It's just hard to adjust to sometimes."

"But adjust to what?" Draco asked.

"Being a Malfoy," Harry said. He looked down at the floor as he spoke. "I don't fit in here. I'm not..."

"Deceitful and selfish?" Draco whispered.

"Rich," Harry said, squeezing his hand. "You're not evil."

"Never said I was," Draco said. "What's wrong with being rich? You are, in case you'd forgotten your bank account."

"I know," Harry said. "But I don't feel rich. I was more comfortable on the ground, I think, with you in my arms."

"Even with my parents there?" Draco teased.

"Even with them there," Harry said. "Mm. Maybe partly because they were there."

Now Draco raised his head, his eyebrows furrowed.

"You can't stand them," he said. "My father, Sev..."

"I can't stand some of the things they've done," Harry said with a slow nod. "Night rides against muggles, serving Voldemort, hurting people."

Draco didn't reply, waiting for him to finish. Hoping Harry wouldn't leave it at that and say something else. To his relief, he did.

"But it was war," Harry said softly, as if speaking to himself. "I understand that a little now. I know what it's like, being afraid and fighting people who want to hurt you. I understand about wanting revenge."

Draco raised his eyebrow at that.

"Then why don't you?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"You want revenge. Why don't you take it then?"

"I..."

Harry paused, thinking. Long seconds passed and Draco wished he was a legilimens. Life would be so much easier if he could read Harry's thoughts.

"I don't want to," Harry said, but his voice was forced and thin. "Besides, there's no one I'd want revenge against."

A lie if Draco ever heard one. Damn. He knew Harry was lying, but to bring it up would make his husband shut up tight, just as he had when they saw the staircase. Draco knew better than to push yet.

"So you don't want revenge on my parents?" he asked in a light tone. "That's good to know. I'll tell them the happy news in the morning. But what did you mean about them being in the same room helping you put up with them? I mean, they have a history of flinging food and glassware."

With some of the tension melting away, Harry smiled and lay down beside him, rolling on his side. Draco lay still and allowed him to touch, to kiss his throat and the back of his hand.

"I don't mean that they haven't gotten on my nerves," Harry said. "Because they have. But I used to think they were so cold and reserved and...well, controlling. It's good to see them act like normal people. I'm glad all the things I'd heard were wrong."

"'Heard'?" Draco echoed. "Like what?"

"I heard your father ruled the family like a tyrant. I used to think you lived under the constant threat of being disowned."

Draco grinned. "Mm, yes, I know that rumor. At Hogwarts, everyone was so sure I'd be disowned if I was even seen with a mud--"

He winced. The word had nearly slipped out, but it had been in his head and Harry knew. He always knew. To Draco's relief, Harry just sighed and closed his eyes in exasperation.

"Well, at least it was a month since the last time you used it," Harry sighed. "You're getting better."

It wasn't a disease to be cured, Draco thought irritably, but he said nothing about it. Harry never threatened to hit him and put up with his occasional pureblood slips, the same way Draco put up with Harry's resentment with wealth.

"Um, now that we're on that subject of bloodlines, actually," Draco started, glancing at Harry from the corner of his eye. "There's something I was wanting to ask you."

"About what?"

Draco caught the subtle warning in his husband's voice. He doubted Harry even knew it was there. They could talk about Draco's parents, but Harry's family were ghosts just out of sight, not to be mentioned.

"I wanted to ask your permission. There's a potion I want to try, a formula really, another charm like that coin I gave you months ago. We're still not out of danger and I would feel a lot better if I knew you were protected, but I know dark magic makes you nervous. I didn't want to--"

"It's okay," Harry said, touching Draco's lips with his fingertips. "It's not your fault the magic makes me nervous. I have to learn to get over that anyway. What did you want?"

"A little of your blood," Draco said, and he sat up as he spoke faster. "Just for a locater spell, so I can find you any time. It wouldn't hurt and I only need a couple of drops, I promise."

Harry straightened, his brow furrowing as Draco rushed. It wasn't like him to grow so agitated, not unless he was afraid of something. He would've been worried if Draco didn't startle at his own shadow sometimes.

Draco held silent as he waited. He couldn't guess what Harry would say. After being scolded for saying something as simple as mudblood, he never knew how Harry would react to spells based on blood. As Harry paused, Draco started to squirm. Harry wasn't examining this too closely, was he? A charm with Harry's blood could find his husband, yes, but it could also find his muggle family. He hated to think of his husband sharing any blood with muggles, and the more he thought of it, the more certain he was that Harry was thinking of it. After a long moment, he shook his head once. Better to give in and try again later.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have asked. I know blood magic bothers you--"

"No, I'm sorry," Harry started again, in slow, measured words. "Using blood bothers me, but...it isn't bad. It's just different magic. I have to get used to it, that's all. You're a dark wizard. I'm not going to try to change that."

Draco felt sick. It was the same feeling as when he wanted to smash his honey charm. Harry sounded so understanding, so eager to believe the best in him. And instead, Draco made love charms and poisons, and now figured out a way to find Harry's muggle guardians without his knowing.

Damn it, why was lying getting so hard? He'd felt triumph when he first made the honey amulet, thinking he was tricking Harry into loving him, but the triumph had turned to despair all too quickly. Now that he loved him, why did lying to protect him feel just as bad?

"It's okay," Draco said, hearing himself sound reassuring and loving. "Dark magic sets people on edge. Even in the dark community, some of the spells can be too...intense."

Harry smiled despite his ill-ease. "Intense. S'good word for it."

Draco smiled back. "So may I?"

"Yes."

Before the word was completely out, Draco was sitting up and conjuring the only potions knife they had. He hoped he hadn't just yanked it away from his mother or Severus, but to his relief, he didn't hear shouting or angry footsteps as the knife appeared at his hand.

"You won't feel anything," Draco promised, motioning for Harry to give him his arm. "It's charmed so there's no pain. It's what I usually used."

"When you had to give blood?" Harry asked.

He grimaced and leaned close, letting Draco's cool fingers curl around his wrist, both close enough to feel the other's warmth, the pure sensation of being near each other. Draco spared a moment to lean closer, skin to skin. Normally he'd feel reassured, but as he rested on Harry's shoulder, the anxiety balled up in his chest and sickened him.

"Draco..."

Draco didn't answer. Was he being obvious? He couldn't seem to hide anything from Harry anymore. He wondered if his husband was ruining him. Lies and deceit came so easily in the past. His wits were bogging down around him, leaving him floundering in confusion.

"I have to ask..."

Harry was a warm blanket around him, but Draco turned cold. He recognized the feeling, the instant before a vase smashed on the floor, the silence after crucio is cast, just before the spell hits. Neither moved, tense and wary.

"...what do you want my blood for? Exactly?"

Even then, he could have salvaged it. He could have lied, recited a formula for protective charms. He knew many by heart. Harry might have accepted the lie.

Just like he accepted the honey charm around his neck.

Draco shifted to look at it and instead looked too high. He found Harry's stare, intent and deep--too deep, mesmerizing him like a serpent would a mouse, about to burn him and rip him to pieces for Harry to examine at his leisure--

Harry broke away first, clamping a hand over his eyes and turning.

"Oh God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--" He growled at himself. "I thought it had stopped, I was controlling it--"

Harry's frustration clinched it. Draco was sure his husband could sense lies, and he didn't want that frustration to come from him. He felt like he'd been defeated before the battle had even started.

Use the distraction and forgive him by drawing blood, his old instincts told him. But he didn't. Ignoring Harry's apologies for his accidental legilimens, Draco stood, letting go of Harry's wrist. The knife slid from his hand to the floor, clattering on the hard wood, and the sound made Harry break off in mid-sentence. Draco didn't have to say anything.

Pausing, Harry stared at him for a long time. Draco took a few steps away from him, nervously looking over his shoulder when the silence dragged on.

"How do you always know?" Draco asked. He could barely see Harry's shoulder from this angle.

Silence again. Harry breathed out, let his hand fall to the bed, then rubbed his eyes wearily.

"You can't lie to me," Harry said, sounding tired, and he didn't go to Draco's side. "You tense up and look away. Every time."

"It wasn't a lie," Draco defended himself, but it sounded feeble in his own ears. "Just not the whole truth."

Harry sighed, and the sigh turned into an exasperated grumble at the end. "God dammit, Draco. Do you want me to trust you or not?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Draco said.

"I didn't mean to look into your mind, I swear--" Harry started.

Draco quieted him with a raise of his hand. "Not that. Although that's the heart of it, I suppose. Legilimens and occlumens. You can see everything I am, and all I can do is try to hide it. I can't look into you."

A self-deprecating snort. "There's nothing special to see."

"I thought you were special enough to marry," Draco snapped, "politics be damned."

He took a little satisfaction in how Harry couldn't answer.

"You know my mother, my fathers," Draco continued, and his voice grew brittle and strained, as if it was a wineglass ringing and about to break. "You know my home, my history, my magic, my secrets--I barely know anything about you. A bit more than the newspapers, maybe..."

"Draco...no. You know more than that..."

At hearing his name, he winced. There was no mistaking the hurt in Harry's voice. Draco groaned through his grit teeth.

"Oh, for God's sake--Harry, what I know about your family comes from the Prophet. I know a handful of your friends. I know you're honorable and honest and perfect and heroic." He closed his eyes. "I know your temper. And that's it."

"That's not true," Harry bit. "You know who my friends are. You just don't say anything to them. You know how awful my years in school were--"

"Really?" Draco said. "Winning house cups and the adoration of the--"

"'Adoration'?" Harry demanded. "Whose? Everyone hated me, they thought I was the heir of Slytherin. Everyone always--always looked at me. They thought I was a bloody freak show!"

As Harry's voice rose, Draco began to curl in on himself. He put his arms around himself, squeezing his eyes shut, wondering when Harry would get up and stomp towards him.

"You were a bloody hero," Draco said softly. "The freakshow was down in Slytherin. You had Gryffindor, the headmaster..."

"You had a family."

Harry said it in a dead flat voice. Draco frowned.

"And you didn't?"

"No parents."

"The muggles that raised you?"

"I don't want to talk about them."

"They're why you got sick looking at the stairs, aren't they?"

Draco turned to face him. Part of it was his fear of Harry's legilimens fading away, but part of it was feeling how the conversation had shifted. He had a little leverage finally.

"I said I don't want to talk about them."

"I heard you." He stared at Harry, never straight into his eyes, but he noticed how his husband sat with his arms pressed close to his sides, making himself as small as possible. "But they're still hurting you, and it's still part of you, and I don't understand it."

"What's to understand?" Harry mumbled. "They were bad. I left. End of story."

Draco shook his head. "I don't understand. You should have been fine with your family."

Harry laughed once, bitterly. A moment had to pass before he blinked and looked up.

"You really mean that, don't you?" he asked. "You really think family takes care of everything?"

When Draco didn't answer except with a confused look, Harry breathed out.

"You do. You mean you'd spend an evening with your Aunt Bellatrix?"

"That's different," Draco said, feeling his skin crawl at the mention of her name. "That's war. War changes everything. So what was your muggle family's excuse?"

Harry stared at him again, weighing something in his head. When he came to his decision, clearly making up his mind, he stood and came up beside Draco, putting an arm around his waist and holding firm when Draco shied back a step.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Harry said softly. "I promised that before."

"You're mad at me," Draco whispered. Bigger, stronger, more powerful--he dreaded what Harry might do.

"Livid," Harry agreed. "But I'll show you. I'll show you what you want to see."

As scared as he was, Draco touched Harry's shoulder and gave into the sensation of side-apparation. When they reappeared, they were on a muggle sidewalk in the dark, facing a house with its windows still lit. Draco found that he couldn't move. Harry wouldn't let go an inch, holding him as inflexibly as a statue.

Frantic, Draco looked down both sides of the sidewalk so fast that his head hurt, afraid a muggle might wander by like a starving wolf. There was no sound of footsteps, no shadow coming past the distantly spaced streetlights. They were alone.

He didn't feel any safer. He squirmed and wished they were back home.

Faint voices came from the house. They apparated again, and the sudden shift left Draco trying to catch his breath. They stood right outside the window, looking through a dining room and a kitchen to the living room beyond that. Harry tightened his grip, holding one of Draco's hands and pinning him against his chest to hold him still. Draco froze as the people came into view.

"Here," Harry whispered. "You wanted to see. Well, take a good look."

TBC...

Author Notes

1. sciftian -- from the Old English sciftan, to shift

2. destrureheriberga -- destrure, to destroy, heriberga, harbinger

3. My Dursleys never had the talk with Dumbledore, nor does Dudley have any redeeming qualities.